


Minor Illusions

by blushamatic



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fantasy Porn Watching, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blushamatic/pseuds/blushamatic
Summary: “Well, well, well.” Kravitz dares to lift one eye to peer at him. He wishes he hadn’t. Taako is wearing an expression of pure evil. “Look who couldn’t wait to play a little five-on-one.”Kravitz stumbles across a mysterious artifact with some very entertaining properties and takes it home for further research—but can't seem to find a minute alone.





	Minor Illusions

Kravitz licks the tip of his quill for what must be the hundredth time that day. He dips it into the inkwell at the top of his desk, taps it against the side, then brings it to the next open line of his ledger and writes _Pendant of Eyebite—fractured, non-functional._

There’s something appealing in the very rote task of updating the Ledger of Confiscated Necromantic Paraphernalia. It was why he’s claimed the job for himself and put Barry and Lup on archival duty, ferrying contraband from their latest mission down the hall to be shelved and locked away. They have an impressive haul to catalog this evening—the warlock they intercepted that day had been quite the hoarder. She was a reclusive, elderly elf, Kravitz had noticed, only just beginning to dabble in necromancy. Unfortunately for her, the dabbling was enough to warrant a visit from the Reap Squad, as Lup called their trio.

Kravitz passes his hand over the spray of objects laid out on his desk—vials of grave dirt, onyx pebbles of varying sizes—and plucks a clear, faceted stone from the lineup. He raises his spectacles of Detect Magic to the bridge of his nose and peers through.

It’s a chunk of polished glass, smaller than his palm—a prism. Detect Magic reveals some kind of illusory spell. Odd—it’s not exactly oozing necrotic power. Kravitz quickly calculates the risk of handling the object directly for expediency’s sake, decides in favor, and drops it into his palm.

The prism touches his skin, and an image crackles to life above it, golden and glowing and—

— _Oh. Oh dear_.

There’s a very naked tiefling being, um, _orally pleasured_ by the half-orc in front of him. He’s bucking his hips roughly into the half-orc’s mouth, face tense, and the half-orc, well . . . he appears to be taking it like a champion. There’s a great deal of saliva and pulsing veins and extremely performative licking.

Fascinating. It’s a pornography prism. Almost certainly enchanted with Minor Illusion, visual but not auditory, with a spectral, honeyed quality applied to the quarter-scale image, presumably for artistic effect. It’s clever. It’s resourceful. It’s well-crafted.

Oh, who is he kidding. He isn't watching this for the craftsmanship. Kravitz shifts in his chair and wonders just how long the half-orc’s jaw can withstand all that thrusting. The tiefling runs a hand over the half-orc’s shaved head, claws dragging over the tender skin as his hips stutter—Kravitz leans forward—

“Heya Grim—”

—Kravitz's spectacles fly off the end of his nose. He snaps his hand closed and jams the prism into his cloak pocket just as Lup appears in the doorframe.

“Should we archive all these pouches of bone dust under ‘B’ for ‘Bones’ or ‘D’ for ‘Dusts & Powders’?”

Kravitz stares at her as his brain rushes to process her question and definitely, definitely not think about tiefling dick.

“Boners. Bonings. Bones, I meant. ‘B’ for bones. Is where that should go.”

Lup snorts. “You’re hilarious. ‘Kay, thanks.” And she trots off down the hallway.

Kravitz takes a deep, steadying breath. He picks up his quill, dips it in the inkwell, and writes in the ledger: _Prism of Minor Illusion_.

He writes no further comment.

\- -

“Darling, don’t freeze to death out there, please?” Kravitz tugs at the hem of Taako’s wool coat, voice as pleading and pitiful as he can muster.

“Why?” Taako smirks at him and ties off his braid with a flourish. “You got big plans for my corporeal form later?”

Kravitz flashes him a grin and stretches his limbs across the duvet, cat-like. “Maybe.”

Taako flicks his braid over his shoulder, casual and unruffled but cheeks definitely half a shade rosier than they were a second ago. “Sweetheart, those pants leave nothing to the imagination, there’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

Kravitz, unabashed, cranes his neck up for a good-bye kiss. Taako curls over him, presses his soft lips to Kravitz’s. It breaks it too soon for Kravitz’s liking. A helpless little groan escapes his throat.

Taako just snickers. “I’ll see _you_ later, handsome.” And with a wink and a dramatic whoosh of his cloak, he goes.

Kravitz sighs. He collapses into sun-warmed feather pillows, body loose and thrumming with energy. He should head back to the Astral. His agenda is open until the afternoon, but he should get an early start. Shouldn’t he?

He squirms. The tent in his flannel pants is becoming increasingly hard to ignore. Why did Taako have to kiss him so fucking sweetly and then flit off? In that adorable pale blue sweater that makes him look like a damn snow queen. How many hours is it till five o’clock? Gods, he hates mortal time.

Fine. _Fine_. Kravitz will just have to take care of this himself.

He does, after all, have that . . . item. In his cloak pocket. That he never finished, um, _analyzing_.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Kravitz hoists himself out of bed, pads over to the closet, and feels around in the pockets of his cloak until his hand finds the prism. He pulls it free, sits on the edge of the bed. Curled up in his hand like this, it’s lifeless, but as he peels back his fingers, a familiar scene flickers to life. Kravitz takes a shuddery breath.

The tiefling and his co-star appear to pick up precisely where they left off, just before Kravitz stashed them away in his office: with the half-orc gulping down the tiefling’s orgasm ( _Oh dear_ ), two clawed hands cradling his head, both figures visibly sweaty and glistening even in their spectral forms. Kravitz reaches over to the bedside table, scrambles around inside the drawer there, eyes still glued to the projection, and retrieves a bottle. He gingerly places the prism at the foot of the bed, careful not to jostle it and risk interrupting the show. He slicks up a hand, yanks his pants down around his thighs, and finally, finally gets a hand around his half-hard cock.

Gods, this is embarrassing. This is ridiculous. He feels like a horny teenager. And _fuck_ , is it good.

The scene has gotten tender: The tiefling, tail lashing, has helped the half-orc to his feet, and they’re now kissing with a sloppy passion. These two aren’t Kravitz’s usual _type_ , per se, but they’re certainly easy on the eyes. The ass on that half-orc in particular is commanding a great deal of Kravitz’s attention. Kravitz drags his palm up the underside of his cock, rolls it over the head and down again. Not quite as electric as Taako’s mouth—few things feel better than Taako’s mouth—but a relief nonetheless.

 _Ooo_ , they’ve found a bed now. The tiefling places a wide hand on his co-star’s chest and shoves—Kravitz’s face burns at the rough handling—and the half-orc tumbles onto the bed. There’s a command from the tiefling that Kravitz can’t hear, but it sends the other up onto his knees. _Yes_. Where is this headed? The tiefling is circling the bed now. Kravitz’s quickens his stroke. The tiefling slides onto the sheets, tail curling around the half-orc’s inner thigh. _Oh, that’s good_. One clawed hand presses into the half-orc’s hip, the other wraps around his hardness, grip loose and lazy and excruciatingly slow—gods, it’s hot, it’s—Kravitz grits his teeth, forces his hand to slow—he can’t come yet, it’s only been—

—That is unmistakably the sound of the front door, isn’t it.

 _Shit_.

Kravitz lunges first for the prism, realizes his pants are half-off, twists himself around to yank them up while simultaneously lunging for the bottle of lube. He manages to throw the bottle into the bedside table and slam the drawer shut before—

“Guess who marched ALL THE WAY to school in this godsdamn BLIZZARD before hearing they’d called in a snow day, can you believe it?! It’s a good thing I—”

Taako already has his hat off before he processes the sight before him: Kravitz, breathless, twisted up in the bedsheets, pants only barely covering his ass, while a miniature spectral tiefling administers a handjob at the foot of their bed.

“Now what in the twelve planes is—”

Kravitz wonders how deep in this pillow he can bury his face, and if he burrows deep enough, if the bed will just swallow up the rest of him, too. “This isn’t—I—”

A snicker. He hears the swish of Taako’s coat sliding to the ground and feels the bed dip as Taako sinks down beside him. And then, low and wicked and simply dripping with mockery, “Well, well, well.” Kravitz dares to lift one eye to peer at him. He wishes he hadn’t. Taako is wearing an expression of pure evil. “Look who couldn’t _wait_ to play a little five-on-one.”

“Taako. Please be an adult about this.”

“About what? About you getting caught beatin’ the meat? Floggin’ the ole log? Rubbing one out? Jerkin’ it?”

“Taako.”

“Sweetheart,” Taako purrs as he moves his lips to Kravitz’s ear. “ _Please_ inform me what those ghostly beefcakes are doing in our bedroom.”

Kravitz glances over. It appears they’ve moved on to some light spanking.

“Minor Illusion. That’s what it’s enchanted with. Found it at . . . through work. I thought you’d be at school, I didn’t know you’d—”

“Krav, holy shit . . .  This is _good_. Look at ‘em go, this isn’t fucking amateur hour. These two are _pros_.”

Kravitz gulps and rolls onto his back, resigned that yes, this was happening now. “They are . . . very good at what they do.”

Taako is shucking his snow boots onto the ground, now, eyes trained on the illusion. “I think I’ve seen that tiefling guy before.” He scrambles to Kravitz’s side. “He’s like, _famous_ I think.” Taako perches his chin on his shoulder, eyelashes fluttering against the shell of Kravitz’s ear. His impulse to flee the Material plane, he notes, has evaporated.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s been awhile since I’ve encountered a, um, _artifact_ like this before,” Kravitz mutters. He expects Taako to rib him for that one, but he’s utterly absorbed in the action.

“This is _hot_ , dude.” And then, with a poke to Kravitz’s ribs, “So _selfish_ , not sharing this with me.”

Kravitz turns his head to peck Taako on the point of his nose. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

“I’m kidding, Krav, you’re allowed to have your own private spank bank. I certainly . . .”

Just then, there’s a flurry of movement as the two figures sit up on their knees, rocking together, the tiefling fisting the half-orc’s cock with twice the intensity as before. Whatever that hand is doing, it must be incredible—the half-orc’s entire face is slack with pleasure and gleaming with sweat.

“ _Ooo_.” Taako’s voice tickles Kravitz’s earlobe. “That looks nice, doesn’t it.” Kravitz gulps. There’s a twitch inside his pants severe enough that it catches the elf’s eye. “Somebody else likes it, too.” Kravitz’s eyes are glued to image in front of him, but he can feel those long fingers sliding ever-closer to his crotch. “I’m sorry I had to rush off this morning,” Taako purrs again, “And leave you to deal with this big, beautiful hard-on all by your lonesome.” He swipes his lower lip against Kravitz’s clenched jaw. “Can I make it up to you?”

He inhales a shaky breath. “You can do whatever you want to me, Taako.”

“Mmm.” Behind him, Kravitz hears a rustle of fabric, then feels a hand wrap around each of his shoulders, easing him backward. “How ‘bout you lie back a little, handsome. That’s it.” He falls back against Taako’s chest to find it bare—he’s slipped off his sweater, and his skin hums with warmth. “Let me take care of you.”

Kravitz doesn’t need to be told twice. When Taako’s thumbs hook themselves inside his pants, he dutifully lifts his hips and slides them down and off. Taako hums approvingly. A warm hand finds Kravitz’s cock, wraps around it, and strokes.

“Mmmmmfuck.” He rolls his hips up into the touch immediately, already unraveling. At the other end of the bed, things have escalated—the half-orc has his ass in the air and grits his teeth as his partner slides home, tail keeping his knees spread wide.

“Look at him take it,” Taako hums into Kravitz’s ear. “Almost as pretty as you when I put my dick in you.” Kravitz groans, bucks into his lover’s grip. Taako laughs softly. “Oh, you just love my dirty mouth, don’t you, handsome?”

Kravitz bucks again and hisses through his teeth. “I think that answer’s a bit obvious.”

A rough squeeze has Kravitz gripping a fistful of bedsheet and gasping for breath. “Cheeky,” Taako growls. Kravitz cracks open a heavy eyelid to watch the tiefling pound into his partner with a merciless, almost theatrical intensity. Kravitz can’t tear his eyes from the way those twin curves of the half-orc’s ass quake with each thrust.

“See, isn’t this good?” Taako’s lower lip grazes Kravitz’s earlobe with each syllable. “You like watching these two fuck. So dirty.” Kravitz groans, squirms in Taako’s arms, arches into the air, pleading for more touch, more attention. Taako takes the bait, drags his fingertips along the curve of a pec. “Is this what you do when I’m gone, baby? Get nasty with yourself?” Kravitz breathes into the touch.

“Maybe,” he grits out.

Taako hums his approval. “Thought so.” His hand moves faster now, grip tightening. “Y’want to know a secret, handsome?” He lowers his mouth to growl directly into Kravitz’s ear: “Me too.”

Kravitz gulps.

“All my lonely little nights when you’re away, fisting my own cock in this bed . . .” Kravitz hisses and drives his hips up into Taako’s hand. “I can smell you on the pillows. Just waiting for my big handsome reaper to come home and give it to me, fuck me just how I like it.”

At the edge of the bed, the tiefling comes with relentless force. The half-orc wails into the bedsheets, forearms trembling. “Close—!” Kravitz warns.

“I bet you are.” Taako swivels his wrist. Kravitz’s vision turns hazy. “You can’t help it, can you? Gods, Krav, what a sight you are—”

His hips surge into the air, and he spills into Taako’s hand with a cry loud enough to shake the snow from their rooftop. He can hear, faintly, Taako cooing praises into his ear through his comedown, and when he finally opens his eyes again, he can see the prism lying innocently among the sheets, dormant at last. It’s an innocuous little thing, from this distance. He reaches a shaky hand up to cup Taako’s face. “Am I ever going to live this down?” he mutters.

Taako bursts into that high, musical laughter of his that turns whatever remains of Kravitz to absolute jelly. Taako throws his arms around Kravitz’s torso and barrel rolls them until they’re both thoroughly tangled in sheets and pillows and discarded clothes. “This?” he giggles into Kravitz’s neck. “Hell no.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yell with me on Twitter: @blushamatic


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